


The Letters From No One

by Intothewickedwood (zacobyz)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Child Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, background Curious Archer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22052260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacobyz/pseuds/Intothewickedwood
Summary: This is based on my headcanon: ‘What if Rogers had cursed memories of having a daughter?’
Relationships: Alice | Tilly & Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Alice | Tilly & Wishverse Captain Hook | Detective Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	The Letters From No One

**Author's Note:**

> This is more of an outline than a fic. I couldn’t be bothered to polish it but maybe I will later xD. The last part is canon divergent where the curse doesn’t break and Rogers and Tilly don’t see anything magical when kidnapped.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Character death, Child Death, Mentions of Child abuse

Rogers was a mere 16 years of age. He dwelled in a run-down cottage passed on to him by his older brother. It was his own, personal fortress of solitude. But then, the diminutive building could hardly be compared to some grand structure. 

He’d been marginally managing to muddle through school, with the death of his brother just 2 years prior. Rogers was all alone in the world now, with no one to counsel him and no one to verbalize his frustrations with or share precious moments with. The dark-haired teenager was an orphan who’d been raised in the foster system and subsequently by his brother. 

One night, on the anniversary of his brother’s death, he found himself incredibly drunk at a club. He met a girl there who was in a near identical state to his own. After the last stars had faded into black, he resolved to ask her to join hands and journey to his home with him. Things went further than he ever intended for them to go and by morning she was lost from sight, never to be laid eyes on again. The whole night had blurred into confusion. He couldn’t recall the girl’s features. They were distorted in his mind and her name was an even greater mystery. After much rumination on the matter, he opted to never ponder over it again. 

Around eight months later, Rogers received a letter addressed, bizarrely enough, to someone christened James. But he was James. He could hardly trust his eyes. He scarcely got letters from anyone. Who would write to him when damn near no one concerned themselves with his existence?

He opened the letter. It read, ‘Dear James, I am writing to inform you that our baby girl was born yesterday on the 1st of August. She’s still on the ventilator and is being closely monitored but there’s hope she’ll make a recovery. I hope this letter reaches you in good time, regards, E.G.’

Rogers’ eyes steadily began to well up without consent. A baby girl? He had a daughter? But how? Surely not that night. Was this some kind of cruel trick? Was the girl plotting some kind of revenge or was she after something from him? But then, he thought to himself: what if she was telling the truth and he had a baby daughter- a daughter born prematurely, who needed the love of her father? So many questions ran through his mind, more briskly than he could contend with.

He had to find this girl who’d crept into his life, into his bed and had supposedly given birth to his child. He had to be with his daughter somehow. He prayed to God she’d be alright. She was going to make it. She had to. He was a father. He smiled to himself thinking of all that that meant as he pulled on his coat and raced outside. He wasn’t completely sure where he was going. 

He decided to head to the post office, anticipating that they would somehow know the address or name of the person who’d sent the letter. After hours of waiting and internal contemplation, they informed him that there was simply no way of discerning who the sender was or where it had hailed from. He promptly dashed to the police station and beseeched them to decipher what they could from it. He simply told them that the person it was from might be in grave danger and reminded them of the fact that he was the brother of a once well-respected officer. They gave their word that they’d look into it.

A few days later, Rogers was met by another letter, telling him, in a paragraph, no less, that he’d never find the child or mother and that he should not bother wasting his efforts attempting to do so. This incensed Rogers. Why would this girl enlighten him with the knowledge that she’d borne his child, only to forbid him from ever seeking her? And what was perhaps more unsettling, was the fact that she unfathomably knew he was trying to track her whereabouts? She could have maybe surmised that that’d be his next move, but the letter’s subtext suggested she knew exactly what he had done and what he was planning on doing next.

Keep reading

A week had passed and he’d acquired no answers from the police station. This was in spite of his persistent questions he’d raised to them. He resolved to take matters into his own hands. If the mother of his child knew of his every move, perhaps she was having him watched. He had to take advantage of this. He wrote a letter which said, ‘Dear E.G., I fear I don’t know who you are and you’ve no idea how much this is affecting me, or perhaps you do? I want to know, is the baby alright? I only wish to see her. What is her name? Regards, James Rogers. He then proceeded to deposit the letter on his front porch.

The next day, he saw that the letter had been displaced- either that or it had been swept away by the treacherous winds. He hoped it was the former.

Days later, he came by another letter from E.G., telling him that the baby was indeed alright and asking him what he would name her, given the choice. He breathed a sigh of relief when he bared witness to those wonderful words. She was alright. She was going to be alright! His daughter was evidently a fighter, as his mother and brother had been. 

What would he name her? He sincerely doubted that this vengeful girl would take his answer seriously, no matter what he settled on. Matilda. That’s what he would name her; Matilda Alice, after his mother. She’d have been so happy to learn she had a granddaughter. Though with a pang of guilt, he wondered how she’d feel about him becoming a father so young. He jotted down his response and placed it on the porch.

Over the coming months, he received countless letters telling him about his daughter. He was never given a response on what her name was to be, but he delighted in reading about all the things she’d been up to. She was a mischievous little thing by the sounds of it. He didn’t like the way the mother had told him she had handled these situations. She seemed overly strict- cruel, even. According to the letters, the mother had locked the child in a room for extended amounts of time, several times, as punishment for crawling in the wrong places. And furthermore, the mother had confessed to never letting the child out of the house. He had to do something. He’d be damned if he let this girl treat his daughter like that. Why would she write to tell him about her cruelty? Was she trying to torture him further? But despite how much it hurt him, he was glad she had divulged this disturbing information to him. That way he was even more motivated to get the baby out of her custody and into his own. He went to see lawyers, offered to pay them more than he could afford, and showed the police the letters but as long as the envelopes lacked an address from the sender, there was little hope in locating the mother and child. He even went so far as to knock on the doors of strangers to ask if anyone recognized the penmanship but it was all to no avail. Rogers never stopped fighting to find his little girl- his little Matilda.

A harrowing thought threatened to consume Rogers, an itching, biting thought that always played at the back of his mind; what if she wasn’t real. What if he was childless and this girl was playing some twisted game with him? What if all his efforts to find Matilda were pointless because she simply didn’t exist. This thought cut away at him. It hurt too much to bear thinking about. He wouldn’t entertain it. He couldn’t. He knew in his heart he had a daughter out there. He didn’t know how he knew but it was the sort of gut feeling that only a person who’d been through hell and high water to get to their child could comprehend. It was something he sensed within his very soul.

One day, in the midst of waiting for his tea to brew, his eyes settled on another letter. Inside it was a photograph of who he could only presume to be his daughter. She had to be nearly a year old now, and still he hadn’t seen her in person, he hadn’t yet embraced her and told her how much he loved her, how much she meant to him. But this picture meant everything to him. She was beautiful. She reminded him of her grandmother. She had his mother’s eyes- his eyes and his mother’s smile. He tried to survey the image to see if he could find the girl’s mother in her features. He wanted to see if such an exercise would help him remember the mother’s face. Maybe then he’d have better luck tracking her down, but his attempts were fruitless. He had the small photo framed and hung it up in his kitchen, where he could see his little girl every day. What he’d give to see her face to face on a daily basis. He inscribed ‘Matilda Alice Rogers’ on the bottom of the picture. If he couldn’t know her name, he would damn well decide on one for her.

Wherever he went he saw her. He saw her blonde hair and her smile in so many girls that he passed. Some were toddlers. He wondered what it would be like to care for a toddler. Matilda would be a toddler soon. He saw fathers playing with their young daughters on the street and it killed him. It killed him that he couldn’t be there for his girl. He saw her in the young girls at his school, and eventually in the young women at his college. He wondered what kind of woman she’d grow into. It didn’t matter, as long as she was happy, he’d be proud of her either way. He imagined that, when she grew, she’d be mischievous, a little cheeky, maybe a little eccentric, she’d have a kind heart, but maybe she’d be missing her Papa. He hoped she wasn’t lost without his guidance, like he had been without his brother’s. He hoped her mother was treating her well. 

He couldn’t go anywhere without seeing her. It was destroying him from the inside. He had such a pain in his chest when he thought of her that he felt crimson must be seeping from his skin. He was still doing everything he could to track her down but he was as close to finding her as he was to finding out who was taking the letters from his porch. Was it the child’s mother? Why couldn’t he catch her, even after the countless nights he’d stayed up watching the door. And still he received the letters and still he wrote back. She was two now. Apparently, she thrown all her toys outside to passing strangers and had spent all week mimicking her dog. Crimes apparently horrendous enough to warrant being left completely alone in her room for two days.

Then one day he arrived home from the police station, where he’d just sent over the letters for analysis, when he found a sealed envelope at his feet. Rogers took it to his kitchen table, where he sat down. He unsealed it, smiling to himself, so excited to hear what little adventures his child had gotten herself into. It read, ‘Dear James, I am writing to inform you about our daughter. Something has happened. Our daughter has passed away…..’ Rogers read the last part again, ‘Our daughter has passed away’. Passed away? No-. Rogers fell from his chair and crumbled to the ground, his vision was beginning to blur, his heart pounding ferociously in his ears. “No, no, no.” He screamed a blood curdling scream. He’d never made a sound like that before. He felt sick to his stomach, he was in pain like he’d never experienced. His heart was threatening to tear itself from his chest. He couldn’t see through the tears cascading down his sodden cheeks. “No!” He cried for hours in a heap on the ground, his whole body shaking violently.

Rogers’ ears were still ringing, his vision still obscured by tears but he had to read on. He had to know if it was true. He had to know how. The letter continued, ‘She fell down the stairs. Regards, E.G.’ This final statement made Rogers’ blood boil.

“Fell! She fell down the bloody stairs, did she?!” He yelled. He didn’t know how but he knew that his daughter’s mother could hear him. He knew she’d been watching him since the baby was born- since his baby girl was born. He could barely breathe through his sobs. Had he done this? He’d done something to upset the girl and she took it out on his daughter. Did she kill their daughter?

“Was this real?! Was this all some bloody cruel ruse?! You wanted to hurt me? Well, you got what you wanted, witch!” Rogers was shouting from the top of his lungs. Rogers spent the whole night crying on the kitchen floor. He didn’t care how cold it was. He had to be near the photograph of his child. He’d done this. It was all his fault.

The next day, Rogers dragged himself to the porch, expecting another letter. He hadn’t slept all night. There was indeed a letter. By the time he’d opened it, it was soaked by fresh tears. It read, ‘Dear James, I assure you, our daughter was quite real. I won’t write to you again.’ Rogers felt weak at the knees. He couldn’t deny it, his daughter was dead. He sat on the stairs where he wept. This couldn’t be happening.

Rogers never got over the death of his daughter. Every time he looked at the picture of her hung on his wall it caused him great pain, but he could never bring himself to take it down. He stopped seeing her in other people, it was too painful to imagine who she would’ve grown up to be.

Later in life, he became a police officer, vowing to never let anyone get separated from their loved ones again. And on the anniversary of his daughter’s death he drank too much and Eloise Gardener went missing. He became obsessed with finding her. Maybe this was to be his redemption? His redemption for being the cause of his child’s death. He began to feel like Eloise and himself were family. He imagined her journal was just how his little girl’s would’ve been, had she grown old enough to write in one.

And then, years later, he met Tilly. He saw the blue of her eyes and part of him wanted to keep his distance. He couldn’t allow himself to see his daughter in her. It was too much. She told him Eloise was dead and it felt like losing his child all over again. And when he found out she was lying he felt incredibly betrayed. How could she have let him go through that again? But he realized Tilly was troubled and hadn’t had a good upbringing. She’d been alone for most of her life, like him. He got to know her and then he couldn’t help it. She was just who he’d imagined his daughter to grow up to be; mischievous, a little cheeky, kind-hearted and lost without a father’s guidance. 

Then when Tilly became a suspect in the baker’s murder, he found out her first name had been abbreviated from Matilda and he just knew he had to absolve her of any crimes. He had to help her no matter what. A connection had formed between himself and this girl that he couldn’t begin to explain. He just felt he had to do all that was in his power to protect her. 

He asked if she’d like to live at his place of residence and in time, he became somewhat of an older brother-type figure, or perhaps even a father figure to her. He watched her free animals from restaurants and get excited over the smallest of things and his heart swelled with affection. He thought that his daughter would be proud of him when Tilly asked who’s picture that was on his kitchen wall. But he couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t bring himself to share the tale.

Soon, Eloise had claimed to be Tilly’s mother and Tilly and Roger’s ended up being kidnapped by a cult. He’d never felt such trepidation in his life. It was a primal fear for only Tilly. He didn’t care what happened to him. He couldn’t lose her. And then Eloise uttered to Rogers the most life-changing words anyone had spoken to him since that fateful day. She revealed to him that Tilly was his daughter. It was all too overwhelming. His daughter was dead. But what if-? No. She couldn’t be. Tilly seemed to believe it but then, Tilly believed a lot of impossible things.

Rogers somehow managed to escape, but Tilly was in some kind of trance, perhaps something to do with her upside-down thinking. He couldn’t get to her so he promised to get help for her. He told Weaver about what Eloise had said and when he thought about it- really thought about it, it made sense. The letters were from an E.G.; Eloise Gardener, perhaps? But surely, he was grasping at straws. He couldn’t let himself hope. But he knew he had to save her. So, with her girlfriend Margot’s help they rescued her from the cult but Eloise and her minions ran away before they could apprehend them.

Rogers was overjoyed that Tilly was alright- physically at least. She had been traumatized by the kidnapping and the reveal that Eloise her mother. He promised her they’d get a paternity test to make sure but he wasn’t certain what to think. A large part of him believed it could be true. He hoped more than anything it was but he just couldn’t think it because, what if he was wrong, what if he had to lose his daughter again. It was too much to hope for. The thought of his daughter being alive brought him so much joy and sorrow. No matter the outcome, he’d still missed a lifetime with her and he’d spent all those years grieving for what could well be a lie. Rogers and Tilly took the DNA test and were told to wait a few weeks for the results. 

Rogers noticed Tilly’s increasing anxiety over the results and he tried to reassure her. She didn’t want to get too close to him for fear it wasn’t true. Then one day he went down for breakfast and she wasn’t there. She’d taken her back pack and had left through her bedroom window. He immediately called Weaver and the two of them and Margot went on a search for her. She wasn’t in her shipping container or by the troll. She was nowhere to be seen and no one had seen her. Rogers felt sick with worry. Eloise and her cult were still out there and they wanted Tilly as part of their plan. The three of them were in a state of panic by nightfall. They looked for her all through the night. 

Days passed, gradually turning into weeks. They all attempted to call her constantly but they never received a reply. Terror was beginning to wash over them now. They searched every day for her but they didn’t get anywhere. They filed in a missing person’s report and pinned missing person posters to every tree and lamppost. Rogers couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t felt an ache like this in years. Was she okay? Was she sleeping alright? Was she eating? He felt a pang in his chest. Had Eloise taken her? Was Eloise the woman who’d sent the letters? Was Tilly indeed his daughter.

Weeks later, Rogers received a phone call in the middle of the night. He heard a girl crying on the other end of the line. 

“Tilly, is that you? Are you safe?” He bolted upright in his bed. “Tilly, I want you to know that it’s okay, Love. It doesn’t matter if I’m your father or not. It’s not all about blood. Do you remember what you said about not having a tether to the world?” He could almost hear her nodding. “Well, I’ve found mine and it’s you, Tilly. Come home, Love.”

“Okay,” Rogers heard her sob.

The next day Tilly appeared on his front porch. He embraced her. Thank God she was alright. She looked down; he had a letter in his hand. It was the paternity test results. Rogers promised her that it didn’t matter what it said and offered to tear it into fragments but she desired to know the truth. He took a deep breath and opened it, it read ‘Paternity test results: Positive match. James Rogers is the biological father of Matilda Alice Charles.’ Rogers read it again. He hardly dared believe it. He gave Tilly the tightest hug he’d ever given in his life. He cradled her head, closed his eyes and allowed himself to just cry. He could hear her weeping too. But by God, she was alive! His Matilda Alice was alive and had been all these years. He had to keep himself from sinking to the ground. He felt light-headed, like he could just float away. He hadn’t been this happy since he’d first been told he had a daughter. Nothing mattered anymore, he was at last holding his baby girl and telling her he loved her.


End file.
